Nora Criona
by seaweedqueen
Summary: [OneShot, Character Death] Based on the poem 'Nora Criona', a man is driven to insanity by the obsession of his wife, Nora.


The night was eerily cold, especially seeing as I was seated in a crowded bar. It was so cold, in fact, that I still had my trench coat on and my dark beanie was pulled low over my ears. It muffled the sound dramatically, alerting my senses. I couldn't help but look around me suspiciously, waiting for someone to do something out of the ordinary. It was raining heavily outside, something this small town hadn't seen for a while. It was why I was here; at least that was what I would tell her. A flash of lightening lit the room suddenly before it disappeared, a clap of thunder following it a few seconds later. It almost made me jump out of my seat.

I could feel her eyes on my back, staring at me so resolutely. They seemed to bore through me and read my every emotion and thought. It happened every night. I loved her. It was true. Nora was the woman that I cared about more than anything in my life but her obsession for me was becoming frustrating.

At first it was lovely. I wasn't a good looking man and I wasn't all that smart. In fact, I never really had anything to offer. I had been the quiet boy at school who would always sit in the back of the classroom daydreaming until the teacher rapped me on the knuckles. Everyone looked at me with scorn. The boys had always thought that I was the dirt under the feet and the girls would look at me with disgust, unable to reconcile the fact that a boy could be so plain and boring. But Nora had always been different.

We had grown up together, her being my neighbour. She had been my closest friend but by the time that we entered high school, we had begun to drift apart. She was, and still is, a beautiful woman. Her golden locks and baby blue eyes were the interest of most of the boys. But she had always had eyes for me, so she said.

I had once loved the fact that someone, that person being Nora, had cared for me so much and I fell in love with her. Well, when I think about it, it wasn't really her as much as the thought of someone loving me. But we grew closer and eventually married and I thought that after a while she would tire of seeing me and leave me. But it was not so.

Her attention was bliss to me. I had longed to spend my time with her, praying for her wistful gazes and unending comments on how much she cared for me. I had seen my purpose in life through her love and affection. I had thought that this was what I had been born for; to be the object of love for Nora and to be supported by her daily. Her attention had a calming and exhilarating effect on me.

But her gazes became more and more longing and her interest in me increased by the minute. After a while, the obsession she had was becoming irritating. She was always pestering me about something or rather with a whining tone to her voice. It seemed that I couldn't think to myself. Her clingy nature was suffocating and I never had a break to myself. She would call me at work, every two hours or so just to tell me that she missed me. As soon as I got home, she was there. I wasn't away from her when I was in the bar. Her attention became stressful and depressing as I began to long not for her attention but for a moment or more away from her.

Every time that I fall into the pits of deep thought, her voice protruded begging me to tell her why it was that I felt this way. She told me over and over again that she wanted to make me happy; she wanted to know that I am happy. But I think to myself when I am able to, that it is quite inhuman to be happy all of the time.

It was almost as if she had a control over me. She could twist my emotions so easily, making my brightest day as dark as the fiery pits of hell. She could alter my mood with a single glance of hers. It was almost unnatural. It was almost wrong. She was the woman. She was the weak, pitiful one and yet it seemed like I was. The love that I had for her was taking control of my every thought and action. I was the one who was supposed to have that control over the other one. I was the one who was supposed to be able to change her mood with a mere movement. And yet at that very moment, I felt her control.

Her gaze followed me and observed every action I take. I can feel her incessant presence drawing closer as I fight the urge to run away from the devil woman. My self-control seems to, unfortunately, win this battle. I sigh with frustration as she sits down across from me, her eyes penetrating through mine.

"Oh love, what is bothering you?" She's started it again. She won't stop bothering me until I give her the answer she wants but that will never happen. I can't just tell her that I hate her existence which, may I add, is the source of all my troubles.

My brother, James, once voiced his opinion on her badgering and when I had agreed, he asked me this question. 'If you were able to do to her anything you wanted, what would it be?' My mind had been filled with numerous ideas. They seemed to swirl around my head until they formed one. My answer had shocked her but then he had begun to laugh uproariously. And when I think about it, I would do it. I would gladly grab her forcefully by her hair and pull her into the air. I would make her scream and beg for mercy before slashing her throat and ending her pathetic life.

I had realised that it was rather cruel after I had articulated this murder but it was quite reasonable when I put it into perspective. I know that deep down I really do love her but all I can feel is my utter hatred and anger towards her. Her exasperating voice couldn't seem to stop. "Now darling, you know that you can tell me anything. Don't you love me?"

I grimace at her words. What a pathetic question to ask! How could she actually hope that I love her when all I can think of is her maddening smile, blasted naïve eyes and her sickly droning voice. "Come now dear. You can tell me." I was sick of it.

My head shot up as I glared loathingly at her. "Shut up." I spat harshly, perhaps a bit too harshly. Her eyes widened with shock as she seemed to shrink back into her chair. I sighed with bliss as the 'conversation' fell prey to a deadly silence. It was beautiful for a moment until Nora seemed to have forgotten about my biting line and began to harass me yet again.

For a moment, I could imagine my pale green eyes becoming a darkening red with the fury and frustration that I was feeling. The image I had of myself resembled those anime characters whose eyes and skin would shine a deep red with their anger and hatred.

"Sweetheart, I can cl-" I had realised that she just wasn't going to stop and this time, I wasn't going to tolerate it. I leapt forward in my chair, wary of the other occupants of the bar, and clenched her hand fiercely, my eyes seeming to flash with my pent up rage. My dream of slashing her to death was flashing gloriously in my mind. Would it be possible? Would I really be able to do it? I knew that I could, I had the drive to do it and I wasn't scared of it. Her every move and every breath was driving me more and more crazy as fury as I wanted more than anything to end her piteous and wretched life.

The disbelief and fear that were shining in her eyes made me sneer with sudden pride. I had finally gained the one thing that I had wanted. In high school, I had been scorned and bullied because there was nothing that had made the older and stronger boys scared of me. But everyone had been afraid of them. And now it was me that held that fear and superiority.

"I thought I told you to shut up, you useless lowlife, and I'll say it only once more. Shut the hell up." I released my strong hold on her arm and sat back in my chair. I looked down at her arm and was surprisingly pleased at the red hand print that stood out from her pale skin. It looked magnificent, almost gleaming out to me.

Her eyes flickered to her arm and back to me, tears prickling at her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but my harsh gaze stopped her. Her hands and chin trembled ever so slightly but she remained silent.

A few hours had passed and we were still seated quietly in the bar, whose occupants had slowly wandered off causing the bar to have become almost empty. The barkeeper was keeping a wary and apprehensive eye on me. But instead of having an insulting affect, I was proud. I had made the strong, well-loved barkeeper afraid of me. His stare dropped away from me to the remnants of the hand print on her arm. His gaze suddenly moved the drunken man in the corner who was cursing the phone that had began to ring shrilly.

Nora had been silent for most of the time and began to speak again. I was sure that she wouldn't badger me anymore but I was wrong. "I now know that something is wrong. You would never hurt me otherwise. Tell me, my dearest, what is wrong?" My head shot up, rage pumping through his veins. I was ready to lash out at her when a deep voice spoke.

"Nora Criona? There's a call for you." The bartender gave her a quick smile before resuming his place behind that thing he called a bar. She smiled lovingly at me before jumping up and fluttering to the phone. I wanted nothing more that to throw a brutal blow into that unknowing face.

But that would have to wait for another night.

Weeks had passed and yet I seemed to feel only ire and ferocity towards the woman I had unfortunately named my wife. The curtains were drawn shut, the room falling into darkness. The only light was the light that was coming through the cracks of the curtain openings and the desk lamp which flickered on and off. She came home this evening, sporting a carefree smile which lit up her face. She stopped her cheerful routine as she saw the deep frown on my face. "Come now love." My hand seemed to act on its own accord, snapping forward and grasping her arm.

I pulled her to me, as she tumbled into my lap. She seemed to take this as a sign that I still loved her. Before I could do anything to stop her, she had thrown her arms around me in a blissful manner. "Oh Peter! I knew th-" But her jovial tirade was halted. I had grabbed her hair and pulled it forcefully, snapping her head back.

She was trembling but she wouldn't illicit a sound, not even a whimper of pain. It angered me even more than her grating voice. I would make her beg for her life. I would make her beg for me to have mercy on her.

I grasped her neck, not tightly enough to kill her, digging my nails into her neck. She let out a soft whimper as my nails broke through the surface of her skin. I sneered maliciously. Her eyes looked up at me with a pitying love. How dare she pity me?

I picked her up, not letting go of her neck, and flung her across the room. She let out a piercing scream. It sounded almost perfect. She cowered against the wall as I grabbed a knife from the table. "What are you going to do, love?" She asked. I couldn't believe she still had the audacity to call me love?

I pulled her by her hair until her feet were dangling uselessly inches from the ground. "You'll be sorry you ever looked at me, you piteous woman!" I snarled before moving my hand in a slashing streak, ending her life. Blood seemed to spurt almost everywhere but I didn't care, even as it trickled down my arm and dripped onto the white carpet. The sweet metallic scent filled my senses as I smirked with pride.

That is my story of how I ended up here, in this cold prison cell, locked up away from the world yet never regretting my actions that day. Perhaps one day they'll publish this memoir with my brother's poem, _Nora Criona_, on the cover.


End file.
